


Glimpse

by spittingfeathers



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, F/M, Shorts, one shots, stannis month
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-04-29 00:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5110301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spittingfeathers/pseuds/spittingfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short little one shots for 'stannis month' with varying titles and length. Also as a sort of yay! moment for the stansa tag reaching 100 posted fics! Marked as complete but will add more as and when inspiration strikes!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one shots

**Quote**

“ _This is not King’s Landing._ ”

He had said the words before but this time their meaning was different. The woman in his arms was shivering, shaking, tears falling from her eyes as she panicked, having woken both of them from their sleep by her terrified twisting and kicking. It was clear she was having that dream again.

“ _This is not King’s Landing_.”

His wife, his strong, beautiful wife, still had nightmares from her time in the capital and every time they rose up in her dreams, ghouls of those long dead, and hands grasping for her clothes and fists for her back and sides, he wished he could kill them all over again.

“ _This is not King’s Landing_.”

“I-I know.” she gasped into his nightshirt. Her hands were like claws, gripping fistfuls of material as he held her and smoothed his hands down her back and through her thick auburn hair the way she liked. “Thank you.”

 

 

 

**Book to show adaptation.**

Stannis wondered whether he was hallucinating because of the lack of food but it seemed he now had more men than he started off with. Had he not just lost his sell swords and their horses and supplies? Had not more men deserted him after the Red Woman Fled back to the Wall? And his wife…his daughter…

The men are of the North, wearing symbols of their houses upon shields and breastplates and banners held up above their heads. “Where have you come from?” he demands “Why are you here?”

The Northern Lords and their men look from one to another, seeming confused. Then he notices Wildlings. Several different clans, all prepared for battle and seemingly following…him.

A burly Northman, bearded and broad shouldered like many of the others, cloaked in furs and mail clears his throat and speaks out.

“Your Grace—you dined in our halls and feasted with us. We are here because we pledged our support to you against the Boltons, the time to fight is now, correct?” The man now looks a little unsure in the face of Stannis’ intense gaze.

He cannot remember it…or wait…maybe he can. “Yes.” Stannis mutters, frowning as flickering memories pass behind his eyes, but it feels as though they are from a dream and not something he has done. Why can he not remember? “We must prepare for a siege—“ The advantage they offer him now is too good to turn down, but as he manouvres the horse beneath him to turn (when had he mounted it?) he catches sight of the one person he had thought far away from him.

“Your Grace?” The sight of Ser Davos makes gut twist uncomfortably. “Are you alright?” Stannis nods stiffly, wondering why Davos is not shouting or trying to kill him.

“Shireen.” he blurts suddenly and Davos now looks worried. “She and Selyse—“

“Are back at Castle Black. Are you sure you are well Your Grace, we can call a halt and rest.”

“No.” He says abruptly. Davos’ words feel tight in his chest. His wife, his daughter, they’re alive. Back at the wall. Those dream like memories that float behind his eyes bring up a feeling of relief. He can remember. Selyse and Shireen had stayed behind, well guarded, instead of coming with him. They are safe and he—

“Your Grace?”

“We will not stop. We have a battle to win.”

 

 

**Family**

A daughter. Shireen they had called her. When the Maester had first given her to him, his wife tired and face pale, already apologising for giving him a daughter instead of a son, Stannis could barely concentrate. The little girl, so small and seemingly fragile in his arms, wriggled before settling in his arms.

“Quiet.” he rasps, though his voice has no reason to be so throaty, and the apologies of Selyse fall silent. “Our daughter, she is…perfect.”

Some of the tension drains out of the room, but Stannis still stares down at little Shireen with all his attention. Unable to resist, he brings a finger to gently run along her tiny hand and is surprised when she latches onto his finger with a firm grip. Maester Cressen laughs at his expression, awed and surprised as it is and pats him on the shoulder as he leaves to fetch a servant to attend his wife.

 

 

 

**Colour**

It’s her hair that first catches his eye. Copper and red and in the light it gleams like fire, and the wind offers it a life of his own. He knows the signs now, a fascination with red hair has only lent him pain and poor choices when Melisandre had seduced him with her honeyed words and talk of sons. But he finds he cannot resist this time, and her soul and nature would never let her be so treacherous, so unkind, as to try and sacrifice the innocent to the Gods she prays to.

She smiles at him once and for some reason, over the course of several weeks, he begins to believe she prefers his company, and then, some months later when he has to admit he has grown rather fond of her, he hears talk of marrying Sansa Stark to a High Lord.

He stiffly asks her opinion on the matter and though she tries to seem happy about the matter he sees her eyes lack their usual gleam and he cannot abide the thought of her unhappy.

She seems happy enough here, with him, and so he asks her.

“Accept or deny me,” he says, “but I do this because I care for you, and not for titles or land.”

She smiles at him and this time the warmth reaches her eyes and she says yes. “Then I must respond that I care neither for your land nor titles but care for you too.”

Stannis is too stunned to close his eyes when she presses her lips to his, fearful that if he blink she may disappear. When she pulls away, blushing, he leans in to kiss her and one hand moves to thread through the fiery strands of hair that had first caught his eye. The strands are as soft as they look and does not set him aflame as he first thought...only from her kisses does he burn.


	2. Calling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not smut smut but smut...ish

Dreaming

He hadn’t had one of ‘those’ dreams in a while. Years actually.

At first it was just vague shapes and feelings like a normal dream…and then the shape had turned into a woman, she was all pale skin and soft sighs, and like most of his dreams he couldn’t capture any of the details, and when he woke, hard and frustrated, the dream slipped away from him. The shower was cold and did well to wake him up for work, even if it made him more irritable.

The next night when he went to sleep he saw red hair, long, straight for the most part though just starting to curl at the ends. He could feel lips on his neck and a hand creeping down his chest to reach for his cock. It was of course a dream, and one of the strange ones where he knew he was dreaming, so he allowed himself to let go just a little bit more than he would have done if it had been real. He woke in the morning just as frustrated as the one before it and deemed it wise to change his sheets himself rather than let his housekeeper do it. That would be very embarrassing.

The third night he knew he was dreaming almost straight away and would have called it witchcraft if the thought had not been so ridiculous. Witches did not exist any longer, their practices all but extinct, and no witch would ever have even the slightest interest in him. The woman before him became a little clearer still.

He did not resist, for now content to allow these dreams - perhaps they were his subconscious’ effort to appease whatever small part of him was craving company. But if they persisted he would have to seek it out in the real world, releasing his energies until the dreams went away. His breathing sped up and he felt pleasure race up and down his spine. He was standing, or lying down? He didn’t know, the dream world was dark around him and he could only see the two of them. She knelt, her hands sliding down his sides and reaching for him, guiding his hips forward and her mouth—sensation burned more intensely than he had ever felt before—was this truly a dream? The world around him started to shift and fade and become fuzzy around the edges. He became aware of the pillow beneath his head and the mattress beneath his back—he was waking up! The woman licked a long stroke along his cock, softly placing a kiss on the tip, and in the last moments of the dream, she looked up and blazing blue eyes met his own.

Stannis came to in his own bed, sweating, harder than he’d ever been in his life and desperate for release. He spared no thought but to wrap his hand around his cock and pump once, twice, three times before he came with a grunt, spots pricked the darkness behind his closed eyelids and he panted as his cock softened and he became aware of his cooling seed on his stomach. With a disgusted noise he wiped it up with the now soiled sheet and tossed it in his washing basket ready to be laundered. This was getting out of hand.

For the next week he was driven insane at night, taunted and teased by a red headed vixen that left him hard and wanting forcing him to either relieve himself or take another perishingly cold shower that suppressed, if only temporarily, the firm ache that woke him every morning.

He tried thinking of other things before he went to sleep, counted sheep for a little while and even tried to stay awake when nothing else worked. On the occasions when he tried to resist he either made it and was then terribly bad tempered and snappish at work or succumbed to sleep hours before he needed to wake up. In either case she would look at him disapprovingly and tease him within an inch of his life. He could see all of her now, the curve of her hips, full breasts, long pale neck, full red lips and piercing blue eyes. Some people said that everyone who you met or saw in your dreams was a real person - someone you might not have spoken to or even realised you had seen - but was put there by your subconscious. Stannis was sure that if he had ever met this woman he would have remembered. To his shame he even tried googling it but his searches returned no results.

Over the next few weeks, despite his attempts otherwise, the woman sparked a fire in him long suppressed. Suppressed because he was not a man of great talent, nor particularly wealthy, and he had not inherited any ‘talents’ like Robert (strength) or Renly (persuasion) had done. He was simply…Stannis.

The dreams persisted, but this time they were a little different. It would not be just the two of them in an empty or dark space. This time there were objects and buildings and he’d even found himself waking up on a beach in swimming trunks. Still, there were some rather interesting positions they got themselves into but there was also a great deal of talking too. The first time he’d heard her voice he’d been rather shocked, and from there he started having conversations with her. But of course she was not a witch, and he daren’t ask. Stannis wondered in his waking hours whether he was going mad.

“You ask me why I am here.” She said, “and yet you should already know the answer.”

“I would not have asked if I knew it.” Stannis replied peevishly.

“You really cannot see it?” she leaned in, brushed her fingers over his jaw leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He felt his blood burn anew. “You are _special_ Stannis.”

*****

He was lonely. And mad. And very frustrated.

It seemed the only way he was going to get her out of his system was if he sought out someone to release his energies on. And if that didn’t work…well he could always try and Maester. Stannis found a willing woman, however, when they arrived at the hotel room, he found it impossible to go through with it. Her eyes had no fire in them, her hair was more brown than red and…she was not the woman in his dreams. As awkward as it was, Stannis gave her enough money for a taxi home and left the hotel.

He sulked until he fell asleep and woke up to find her smiling at him.

They were in a stereotypical log cabin like those described in tawdry novels read by the desperate. Snow was falling softly outside and an open fire crackled in the fireplace. Everything was seemingly made of wood except the fur rug they lay on.

She ran her hands over his bare chest and leant forward to kiss his neck. He would have enjoyed it, urged her to hurry up but all his frustration built up in a wave and he shrugged off her hands and sat up. He remained silent and sullen, determined to wait out the dream. The woman was not one to give up however and finally, after much coaxing, she managed to persuade him into telling her what was wrong.

“I’m going mad.” he said with a scowl. “You’re not real.”

“I’m not sure whether to be insulted or not that you don’t believe.” she said with an incredulous look on her face, “but I assure you I’m real.”

“That’s what you would say.”

She’d avoided most questions about where she was from and for some bizarre reason she still would not tell him her name, telling him it would ruin the surprise. As Stannis turned away in his dream he missed the determined look on her face.

He woke in the morning feeling very grouchy ,and his bad mood remained with him until lunch when Davos knocked on his door.

“Come in.”

Davos entered looking a cross between amused and nervous.

Stannis had snapped at him earlier in the day with more force than was perhaps necessary. It was bad enough that he’d had two resignations this week so they were understaffed, but accidents seemed to be occurring all over the office. The printer broke and started smoking, setting off the alarms which made everyone rush outside. The water cooler had split as he had been walking by and it had gone everywhere. Employees tripped and cups and glasses were gripped too hard (even if the employees said they hadn’t) so they shattered in their hands.

Stannis couldn’t help but think it was all because of her. It was like she had put a curse on him.

Davos cast a look over his shoulder and then back at Stannis. “There’s someone here to see you, Mr Baratheon.” Davos said and this time he was more amused than nervous.

Stannis shook his head and looked back down at his desk and the mountain of paperwork. He had a presentation to prepare for a meeting with a client and it would not do to hand them something only half finished. “Someone to see me? Tell them I’m busy—“ the words caught in his throat as she walked in through the door, an amused look on her face as she thanked Davos who closed the door behind him on his way out.

She walks toward him and he gets up, needing to move, to get closer, to see—

“I didn’t mean to take this long, I meant to be here sooner.”

He can’t say anything. They are alone…and he is awake. She is _here_.

As she reaches him she takes his hand in hers (warm, smooth, delicate) and presses a soft kiss to his palm that makes his eyes widen and back prickle as the hairs there stand on end.

He can’t quite believe it. “You are real.”

“Yes.” She grins and tucks her fingers into the loops of his belt and tugs him forward with a strength that surprises him.

They’re pressed flush against each other and her eyes are hot, and for all they’ve done together - he assumes she knows about the dreams (as impossible as that is) because she is here, he suddenly feels rather shy.

“The dreams—“

She nods, her blue eyes flaring with a sudden heat that twists his stomach. “I remember.”

The words tumble out of him as sweat beads on his forehead. she makes him unaccountably nervous. “At first I thought I was going mad that it was some kind of spell—“

For the first time since her entry she pulls back and a frown furrows her brow. “Stannis. It was a spell. I _am_ a witch.”

Stannis can’t really think anymore and lets out a simple “oh.” He’d thought all the witches were gone.

“Well hidden. Not gone.”

“Did you just—“

“You were thinking loud enough for me to hear you all the way in Dorne. Well it wasn’t me that cast it anyway. How was I going to resist the call of my Mage?”

“Mage?” Stannis repeats dazedly. He’d thought they were something out of fairytales - the last mages were said to have existed over five hundred years ago and even then that was just hearsay. There’s a buzzing in his ears and he hears a faint crash from outside, his head turns to look at it —he should go and see—her fingers press against his jaw and brings his attention back to look at her.

She stares straight into his eyes and seems satisfied with what she finds there.“It looks like I arrived just in time. There’s so much power in you, Stannis, but you need to calm down or else you’ll bring the whole building down around our ears.” she giggles as though it’s funny. This was not a laughing matter.

Someone cursed and there was a loud bang from outside his office door and the objects on his desk began to rattle. Is it an earthquake? The windows began rattling and the potted plant that sat on the coffee table to the side bounced straight off the table to smash on the floor sending mud and pieces of clay pot everywhere.

“That’s it, you’re taking the rest of the day off. Possibly the week. I’ll let Davos know before we leave.”

Did she not know how dangerous it was to walk about in an earthquake - they needed to get to safety! Stannis grabs her hand and intends to pull her under the desk or into the closet or—

She grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls him down into a kiss that races through him like a fireball.

The woman doesn’t let him stop, doesn’t let him go, and he thinks that if they are to be buried beneath the rubble that while it will be rather terrible to have…whatever this is…end so abruptly at least he found out what she tasted like (lemon…cakes?).

Stannis is too involved in the kiss, feeling the curve of her hips with his hands and the feel and taste of her, to realise that the shaking has stopped.

Eventually, the woman pulls away and Stannis blinks dazedly, pausing only enough to take a breath before he leans in for another kiss. She giggles and turns her head so his lips meet her cheek.

“That’s better isn’t it?” she asks though it comes out rather breathy as Stannis’ lips trail down her neck and her hands grab fistfuls of his shirt. “Oh, spirits…let's get out of here.”

“Wait—“ Stannis says, resisting as she tries to pull him out the door. “You haven’t explained anything”

She’s breathless, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling with heat, “I’ll explain everything later” she tries to move toward the door once more but Stannis stops her again.

“I don’t even know your name!”

“It’s Sansa. Sansa Stark.”

The name hits Stannis like a tonne of bricks and now he remembers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse any typos or mistakes, it's 3...4am here and now i really must stop thinking about stannis/sansa and get some sleep!


	3. Kings Landing AU Stansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unedited. Another late night thing I thought I'd already posted. Apparently not. Can't get enough of the happy AUs

It began with paying attention to everything he said, not looking away when he looked at her, nor shrinking back when he became angry with some simpering courtier or stubborn Lord. Then she started sharing her own opinions. He did not seem to mind that she, a woman, spoke her mind, and quickly began asking for her thoughts on one matter or another. She gave him alternatives that were often insightful - her own perspective much different to his, and if a Lord's features became ruffled Sansa managed to sooth them with soft words and courtesies - something he seemed not to know how to do.

 

She found him looking back at her more often than not with an odd look on his face and wondered what had put it there.

 

She was glad that he seemed to be trusting her a little more. Sansa had offered her assistance and she began lightening his workload, small things at first, and then more important ones. Some might have protested at the duties he gave her but Sansa gave him no reason to regret it and handled it all with grace.  She knew if someone contested her place here in the Red Keep, the King would have something to say about it.

 

It might have been pure coincidence but she ended up meeting him more often during walks around the gardens, in the corridors and he even made an appearance once or twice for dinners she took with Shireen. The King seemed to seek her company often and when she heard whispers of an arranged marriage for her, directed to her by the helpful suggestion of The Spider, Sansa decided that she would not be played again. She wondered whether the King knew, and if he didn't she would tell him. If he did, well, she would once again share her thoughts on the matter and hoped he would listen.

 

She would have her choice of suitors apparently. There was to be a feast to commemorate the Battle for the North where the King had defeated the White Walkers and ousted the Boltons from Winterfell. The feast meant that to honour the King's deeds, knights, Lords, sons and brothers, uncles, fathers, and even grandfathers would come from all over Westeros and across the sea for the chance at honouring the king...and win her hand. 

 

Sansa knew she was a beauty. That she would admit freely, though it was not vanity, but truth that made her think it. Her mother was beautiful and they all said she looked just like her mother. Sansa might have been happy enough to endure their attempts at wooing her but it was not just her looks or charm they were after - they wanted the North too. She was her brother Rickon’s heir until he married and had sons of his own. Though it was being questioned whether he would survive long enough to do it was another question all together. He had Shaggy Dog and several clans were loyal to him...but it hadn't stopped the attempts, and while she remained unmarried and his heir, she knew they would continue until one succeeded. If she was married to a Tyrell or a Hightower, a Martell or even a Waters she was sure there would be another attempt and she would find herself back in Winterfell with a new lord husband and soon with child. Then the name Stark would no longer the ruling house in the North. 

 

Sansa intended to let her thoughts be known to the king, bluntly as he liked, but as soon as she told him she knew that many would seek her hand at the feast he seemed to still, paying even more attention than usual. He asked her thoughts and as she gathered her own she noticed the way his adams apple bobbed in his throat and two spots of pink, barely there, appeared high on his cheeks. It suddenly occurred to her that _he_  might want her hand. The thought was startling…but not all that unappealing.

 

Queen Sylese had died some years past in the battle for the North. Her thin, frail body had been starved one too many times on those long days and it had given up on her when she gave her own rations to Shireen. There had been murmurs for the King to remarry when he had taken the Iron Throne, but he had put them down - refused Margery Tyrell and all the other noblemen who pushed their daughters at him - remaining firm that he already had a suitable heir in his daughter.

 

Sansa told him she would like it better if she knew the man she was to marry before they were married. He had nodded and accepted her reasonable request.

 

Sansa continued to consider the King in the days after their conversation.

 

Stannis Baratheon was fair. He had returned the North to her brother, saved the Nights Watch and indeed the realm. And he had not been inappropriate once. In fact, he made sure that all his men made sure to keep their hands and bawdy remarks to themselves when in her presence, though she had a feeling he didn’t care for them too much either. As she caught him staring at her over dinner one night with Shireen, Sansa wondered whether Cercei's words were wrong. Was it true that it would be easier to seduce his horse than the man himself? If it was true, and that he couldn’t be seduced, then nothing bad would come of it, the man had the startling ability to ignore almost anything he wished…but if it worked…then it could only be in her favour. 

 

Sansa quickly came to the conclusion that she wouldn’t mind being the wife of Stannis Baratheon. He was tall, strong, just, and kind in his own blunt way and he wasn’t so hard to look upon. There was an arresting nature about his features, though face lined with years of scowling and his hair thinning on top, Sansa thought that if he just  _smiled_ there would be much more resemblance between he and his brothers. 

 

A few weeks before the feast was due to start Shireen had feigned sickness, winking slyly at Sansa as she passed and returned to her chambers. Now alone with the King, Sansa placed her hand atop his and smiled at him softly, just a tilt of her lips, looking calm but observing him with much more scrutiny than she has ever paid him before. “I do not believe I could stop them from putting their suits forward, Your Grace.” 

 

She watches the way he stills at her touch and stiffens in anger at her words. It is possible he will not react to her next words, though she watches him closely all the same.

 

“I do believe that if there was the attentions of a man whom I wished away I could count on your help, could I not?”

 

He looks down at her hand for a brief moment before looking up quickly at her face, his voice is hard and tight. “You may.”

 

Sansa pulls back and smiles more fully, knowing that she was right, and, if she was to marry someone, let him be brave and just and strong.

 

When the King arrives to speak with her some days later, walking side by side, she takes her arm and loops it through his. He doesn’t seem to know what to do and missteps. It almost looks as though he is about to _run away_  but Sansa keeps walking, composed as ever and holds onto his arm as if it is the most natural thing in the world. 

 

She touches him occasionally, or reminds him of her touch, as they walk. She watches for each reaction - a slight widening of the eyes when she squeezes the muscles of his arm briefly in her hand or the way his throat will work when he feels the brush of her skirts against his leg. She walks with him often now and Shireen seems all too eager to wander off or excuse herself when she sees the two of them together. When they say hello or goodbye she curtsies, and slowly, as the days go by, it morphs into holding out her hand for him to kiss. He does it stiffly at first but when he hears her breath catch, just as he had looked up into her eyes, he becomes more sure of himself. Sansa also knows she shouldn't tease him so but sometimes she will step so close to him that she can feel the heat from his body and see the odd look from before in his eyes.

 

She could have been bold, blunt, spoke as frankly with her body as she did with her words but she suspects that he would not have been so taken with her if she had. Her actions are subtle and perhaps it’s what plays on his mind because one day he dismisses the guards from his solar and stands, walks right up to her and…stops. Just in front of her. He’s scowling so fiercely that at first she thinks he’s angry with her, when with one shaking hand, he places it carefully on the dip in her waist.

 

The place where he rests his hand burns through the cloth of her dress and sears her skin. Sansa can scarcely breathe and when she makes no move to stop him, nor to pull him closer, he begins to censure himself. He is about to pull away completely when she steps closer, into his arms, and places her hand over his chest where she can feel the furious heartbeat beneath his ribs. 

 

No words are exchanged between them after that, the only sounds they make are shameless little gasps or hums or murmurs as she brings her soft lips up to his and kisses him softly then with increasing ardour.

 

For a man so restrained perhaps she could have expected the passion - the lust - that burned just as hotly as his brothers had done. It burned brightly just beneath the surface, seemingly trapped beneath his iron will until she had coaxed it free. All she needed to do was give the King one lingering look and a gentle touch to his hand or arm or thigh and he would be hers.

 

As they grew bolder together, he grew needier. Sucking at the skin on her ribs and thighs and lower back. Peppering her with kisses until her skin hummed with a pleasant burn from his beard. 

 

When the time came for the feast Sansa honestly didn’t have to worry at all about the suitors who had come to call because the King, scowling at each and every one of them, managed to keep them away. He easily monopolised her company throughout the feast, and at the end of it when she had come to his solar to look over some things 'requiring her attention'  he had asked her in his own stilted way, to be his Queen.

 

He had looked lost, desperately hoping she would say yes. How could she not when this brilliant, just, stubborn, intolerable man wanted her…and she wanted him? Had it not been her goal all along? To make Stannis Baratheon want her enough to marry her? To make her his Queen? Of course she was fond of him, and their marriage would hopefully stop the attempts on her brother's life but...the love she felt for him now, and the depth of feeling he showed in the way he spoke or kissed her spoke volumes. And it was love.

 

Sansa said yes and she was very happy when he kissed her hard and pressed his forehead against hers, breathing  as though he had just ran from one end of the wall to the other. She can't help but kiss him again, grinning herself when she feels him smile into the kiss.


	4. Stone and Scales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one this time!

**Stannis + animal or magical creature**

 

A part of Stannis had always knew he had never been Azor Ahai…but he had never expected it would be his daughter either. He could not have known, though perhaps he should have seen it coming. Shireen had Kingsblood.

Stannis stood stiffly beside his daughter, Melisandre and Davos behind them, watching with terrified awe as the stone dragons from around the castle cracked and groaned and came to life.

“That tickles!” Shireen giggled as one nuzzled her scaled cheek. It had been the first to come alive and had followed her as she had rushed to find him in his solar, elated. She touched the dragon on the nose and scratched at it, gasping when the stone crumbled away to reveal hard black scales beneath. The beast grumbled appreciatively and began to scratch and claw at the stone cast covering it.

Had the dragons been alive all this time? Meerly waiting for Shireen to run her hand over them? She had been scared of the dragons when she was younger, their fierce snarling faces had given her nightmares for years.

The eerie screech of dragon calls filled the air as more woke from their stony slumber and Stannis wondered if the quest for the Iron Throne would not be so difficult after all. 

Shireen looked up at him with a beaming smile and reached out for his hand so he might pet the dragon too. The stone was warm to the touch even as it crumbled away beneath his fingers so he might feel the scales underneath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> of course anyone is welcome to develop on these plots further ;)


	5. Ice and Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last day of Stannis month, thought I'd rewrite a drabble I made a while ago. This too was going to be a longer story but I think it fits more with a one shot.

Her manner was as cold as the long night, polite and deadly; her blood was the untamed river, churning, rushing, weaving and beneath her searing skin and her heart burned with a vengeful fire. She spoke softer than the whisper of the wind, her eyes a soft blue and lips a lush red.

Many men had tried to touch her, claim her, but that was before they realised they burned like dry kindling tossed to a fire. Their skin and bones turned to ashes against her slim fingers and their screams echoed through the chilled air. None could touch her, and yet now, out of all those had tried, his hands came away unburnt.

He had been the only man who did not seek to make her his, and not her own, and because of that genuine feeling grew between them. Only then had he realised the pain in his chest would not abate if he did not touch her. To hold her hand. To stroke the soft skin of her cheek. To slide her hair behind her ear or place his hand against the back of her neck to guide her into a kiss. To feel her hands moved up his chest…

The things he had never longed for before assaulted him, one thought after another, until he cared little for what happened and only that she touch him. Even if he burned.

She had run from him when he made his intentions known and reached out to touch her. Sansa had looked at him, terrified and pained even as the want showed clearly in her eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you, please, don’t!” she begged, dodging his hands and running into the Godswood as fast as her legs could carry her.

He was faster.

He caught her hand and pulled her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her and burying his nose in her hair. He breathed her in as she struggled to get out of his grip, trying to remember every second of this moment together before the burning pain would take over but...moments passed and the pain did not come. He was surprised and allowed her to pull away.

Her eyes showed their worry clearly and they shone with unshed tears as she looked him over. She looked at his face, at his clothes and then down at their hands. As soon as she saw his person unharmed, her breath caught and she looked into his eyes with surprise and then wonder.

“I am King of the Cold, remember?” the moniker his men had given him, from the way he pushed and fought relentlessly through the Northern Weather to free Winterfell, fit him more than they knew. He was a good match for the fire that burned inside the Wardeness of the North.

Sansa laughed, and then she cried as he pulled her into a kiss and Stannis felt the pain in his chest increase. It had been selfish of him to try it after so many had tried to do the same but he felt he would go mad if he did not touch her or at least feel her skin against his once. Trying and failing was better than not trying at all.

The kiss was slow and soft but slowly building in intensity as their hunger built. It had been years. Two. No three. Long years without feeling the softness of her skin, the taste of her lips, the warmth of her skin. Stannis sent a prayer to the Old Gods that they let this last. Let him have this. Please. Because if one prayer was answered it would be this one, because loving someone else was painful and so much worse than burning.


	6. Summer Heat

_By the Old Gods it was hot!_

Her mother called it  _balmy_  but Sansa would have described it as stifling. She knew her father had grown used to the warmer summers here in King’s Landing, but it was just something that Sansa would never settle into. They’d spent most of their summers with Robert Baratheon because he was like a brother to her father and had become tradition. He also insisted that the whole of the Stark family, and any friends they wanted to bring, stay at his house - he had the space for it. House was also an understatement for the sprawling manor Uncle Robert lived in because everything had to be the biggest and the best. Aunt Lyanna hadn’t been too impressed but that was another story.

Out of the many bedrooms in the manor, Sansa had chosen the second best guest room (her parents had the first) on the ground floor due to being the eldest and more fussed about where she slept than Rob or Jon. It was well sized with an en-suite and lovely french doors that led out onto the patio where there was a small pool. As there was another pool, olympic sized, heated, and more socially situated at the front of the house, this one was left alone. In fact, other than when she visited, Sansa would have said the only person to actually go near it was the cleaner.

Everyone else was upstairs in the remaining bedrooms wanting to get the best view over the bay or the nicest balconies which meant Sansa pretty much had the ground floor to herself. There was another guest room on the ground floor but it wasn't in use as it was smaller and plainer than the bedrooms upstairs. 

Sansa loved Kings Landing, the heat...not so much.

There were plenty of shops, she could visit her friends and go out with Myrcella if she wanted to. They could sunbathe, watch films, swim in the larger pool at the front of the house and drink cocktails while Jon and Robb and the others played various sports. Sansa joined in sometimes but it never lasted very long. If it wasn’t for the oppressive heat at night she might have wanted to live here permanently. She preferred the North because you could always add an extra layer or blanket if you were cold, but here, in such oppressive heat there was very little you could do about getting cool without wasting water.

Well. There was  _one_  thing and it wouldn't be a waste so much as making use of it.

Sansa wasn’t an exhibitionist but at this point skinny dipping was, as Jeyne would say, a ‘key essential’, even if the term didn’t really make sense. Sansa had done it several summers before and no one had been any the wiser.

It was almost three in the morning and she desperately needed to cool down in the pool so she could finally get some sleep. Knowing no one would still be awake at this hour Sansa had peeled her sweat slicked skin from her bed sheets, wrapped a towel around her body and slipped out of the double doors and onto the patio.

Practically assured that no one would be awake or at least not using the pool, Sansa slowly made her way toward itl, eyes closed as she felt the slightest stirrings of a breeze on her skin.

Of course Sansa should have actually checked that she was alone before dropping the towel.

Her eyes shot open upon hearing the sharp intake of breath, and she almost reached for her towel until she saw who it was.

Barely ten feet away from her Stannis Baratheon sat neck deep in cool water on the seated side of the pool. His eyes were wide, jaw slack and very quickly turning red in the face.

He had just turned thirty-six, she twenty-five, and so far he had rebuffed all of her advances, saying he was too old or it was inappropriate and that he was not someone she wanted to get involved with. Apparently his brother's insistence over the years that he was as dull as dishwater had kept most women from approaching him and had actually started to make him believe it. Sure he worked a lot, and his humour was a little dry for most people, but why that should put them off getting to know him was beyond her. He was perhaps the most intriguing Baratheon Brother (in Sansa’s opinion anyway) because he very rarely spoke about himself - though when he spoke about something he was interested in there was a  _hint_  of something that made her want to know more. It also may have helped that Stannis Baratheon had a rather lovely voice...and he was single and rather good looking in a serious kind of way. Sansa couldn't help but notice his broad shoulders...and his arse..and his legs.  _Gods_.

She had wanted to get him to kiss her at least before the summer was up. Three years of trying to get him to at least  _touch her hand_ had all ended in failure when he practically leapt away from her as if her touch burned him. He'd look at her with a confused look on his face when she leaned closer and she'd look boldly at his lips and then back up to his eyes. She'd even licked her lip and bit it a little when she'd spoken to him last summer; it had been the shortest conversation they'd ever had. If you could call Sansa saying 'hi', licking and then biting her lip, and Stannis making a strange sort of choking sound before he shot out of the room, a conversation.

If Stannis had shown the slightest bit of interest before Sansa would have been inclined to go a little further (ok a lot) than kissing...and she'd actually thought about moving on to someone who was a little more receptive of her charms but...she couldn’t do anything in half measures - even if it was accidental - and standing naked in front of him was what she had needed to do all along to get his attention.

He hadn’t moved yet, still sitting stunned and staring at her as though she was some kind of mirage. In this heat it was possible. Sansa hadn’t truly intended to flash him but if this was the reaction she got maybe she should have done it sooner. It would have saved her a lot of frustration she was sure.

Well, she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth and she didn't think she could see any swimming trunks underneath the water either...

With a small smile, and desperately hoping she wouldn’t slip and make herself look like an idiot, Sansa lowered herself into the pool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be a longer fic...eventually.


	7. Wolf Girl Version 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to get the writing flowing for the rest of my fics by scribbling down one-shots...

Stannis heard shouts, louder than his men’s usual routine, and looked up from the map he studied. The shouting did not stop, but continued, getting louder and closer to his tent. He reached for his sword, but as his hand came into contact with the pommel a blur of brown and red fur shot through the front of his tent and hid itself beneath the bed at the back. From his brief glimpse he deduced it was a wolf they were hunting.

The shouting continued outside and he heard orders given to find the wolf - “Be wary! Check the Princess is safe!” 

At least his men had some sense to check his heir. He didn’t know whether to feel gratified that they thought he could look after himself or annoyed that they would not protect their King like they should. Their plan to guard his daughter was something in their favour however. Shireen was as likely to try and make friends with the wolf as it would be to eat her.

When the wolf still made no move to attack him as animals did when cornered or afraid, Stannis approached the bed, sword held firmly in hand. It was only when he was a sword length away from the bed that he heard the wolf give a sob. Stannis paused his approach and scowled. 

Wolves did not sob and he wondered what sort of trickery had been sent into his tent. 

Stannis took a step back, only able to see an outline of what rested beneath his bed before he began to grind his teeth. That was certainly no wolf.

If this was some summoning of Melisandre’s sent to kill him so she could proclaim another Azor Ahai she would feel the burn of her own pyre after he took Winterfell. He knew of her dissatisfaction with his refusal to burn non believers, so perhaps had decided to look for another who would more easily bend to her wishes. He was not blind and had seen the looks she sent John Snow’s way before he left the Wall. He hoped that the young man continued to resist her.

The creature gave another sob beneath his bed, softer than the last, though it soon turned into a terrified gasp as Stannis lunged forward, knees hitting the ground hard while his free hand reached beneath the bed and grasped onto a limb. 

It only took a moment for him to pull it from beneath his bed and out into the open. To his surprise there was no snapping of teeth or kicking to get away, the creature’s strength completely overwhelmed by his own, though as the creature came into view he realised why. 

The ‘creature’ beneath his bed was no wolf, but a woman. Red haired, blue eyed, pale skinned and barely covered by the wolf pelt she clutched around her.

Any other man would have been thrilled to find themselves in his situation, including the way she was practically in his lap, chest pressed against his armour and wide blue eyes staring into his own…

“Please.” she whispered, “Please don’t hurt me.”

*****

Stannis’ sword made a muffled thump as it hit the floor, the glow of the steel having dulled since Melisandre’s departure, and realised that his grip on her wrist was almost vice like. 

She gave a soft little moan as he gentled his grip on her wrist, the sound sending an uncomfortable feeling rushing through him. What on earth was she doing out here, practically naked, in the cold?

“What sorcery is this?” Stannis growled, more like a wolf himself. “What manner of creature are you—“

The woman…creature spoke in a stuttering voice. The fur she wore was a pelt of red and brown fur, the snarling head of a wolf sat atop her head like some strange hood. “I-I am no creature, please. My name is Sansa Stark—“

“Impossible.” He said before he could really take what she’d said in. There was some resemblance but, if he recalled rightly, the girl’s hair was a little darker than her mother's had been. “Sansa Stark is in King’s Landing—“ He moved without warning, pushing her off him and getting to his own feet, his knees protesting at the sudden movement. He pulled her up by her arm, refusing to look anywhere below her chin when the fur she wore slipped revealing the pale skin of her chest. She didn’t seem to care about her state of undress, simply wrapping the fur tighter around herself which only served to push up her breasts and create a more defined cleavage. 

“I escaped the capital and arrived at Winterfell with Lord Baelish’s help!” Stannis had to admit Baelish was a slippery one, but why she would go to Winterfell when the Bolton’s had it, he knew not. It couldn’t have been her own idea. “He thought to give me to Ramsay, Lord Bolton’s Bastard, to solidify their claim on the North but I wouldn’t do it and—” Her voice shook and angry tears gathered in her eyes as she ducked her head.

“And the wolf?” he asked.

“I don’t know—I…” a terrible shiver shook her frame and despite wondering how she had managed to get from  _ winterfell _ to his camp in the cold with simply a fur for cover he realised she would likely die soon if she did not warm up. It was a marvel she hadn’t already. The fur she wore did very little to cover her womanly attributes and gooseflesh prickled her skin. Strange that she was not colder. She seemed afraid at his movements, now he stood taller than her and clearly now much larger than when they had been sitting on the floor. In a practiced move he removed his own cloak to wrap about her shoulders. She let out a high nervous squeal when she felt the heavy mantle settle around her shoulders, looking briefly stunned up at him.

“Get in the bed.”

She froze, her blue eyes wide with panic. “What—“

Stannis looked at her, unimpressed. “You will be warmer there until my men find clothes for you. I will remain over here.” He was not accustomed to having to put young ladies at ease. Especially ones that were naked. Or almost naked. He was not, in fact, any good at offering comfort to ladies who were clothed either. 

At first she still seemed a little hesitant but when he made no move to get closer she wrapped herself in the remaining furs on his bed and sat, hopefully she would be warmer now, in the middle of it.

“You know who I am?”

“Yes.” She said without hesitation. Looking rather ridiculous with the snarling wolf head still atop her head.

“To my knowledge we have never met, My Lady.” Stannis raised a brow. “How is it that you recognise me?”

She answered almost immediately, in an honest, but nervous way. “You have the Baratheon scent—I mean look, Your Grace. I meant  _ look. _ ” 

While a little puzzled at her words, his hair was beginning to lose its dark colour and he had a far different look from Robert and none of Renly’s pretty charm. He was sure he certainly didn’t smell all that appealing either. 

“Now. You will tell me your reason for being here. In my tent precisely.”

What little relief she seemed to feel when he made no move to hurt her, was replaced by a tremendous amount of fear that settled in her eyes.

“He’s coming—I came to warn you, you have to be ready!” The girl was rambling and making absolutely no sense at all.

“Who? Who is coming?” He asked. Sansa Stark padded from foot to foot beneath his heavy fur cloak betraying her nervousness.

“Ramsay. He’s coming here — and if you don’t stop him he’ll kill me this time. Please don’t let him kill me—”

Stannis ignored her pleading and focused on the only bit of information that actually mattered.

“Ramsay Snow?”

Sansa Stark flinched at the name. “Bolton. Ramsay Bolton. He hates it when someone reminds him he’s a bastard! Don’t make him angry My Lord, it just makes him more vicious.”

A useful piece of information to be sure. “Only an idiot will let his anger get the better of him in battle. How many will he bring with him and how long until we can expect him?” it felt bizarrely like he was awaiting a guest for dinner.

“It’s likely he has his dogs with him - twenty men at least though Lord Bolton is likely to give him more when he finds out I have escaped!” 

“Wait here.” Another shiver shook her frame as Stannis exited his tent, calling to nearby guards to fetch his ‘guest’ some clothes.

*****

“Your Grace, there was a wolf sighted—“

“Leave it. Get me the clothes and send out word to be on guard. It seems we will be meeting Bolton men sooner than we thought.”

“Your Grace?”

Stannis ignored the man’s hesitation and gave him a hard look. “Fetch Ser Davos, I need his counsel.  _ Now _ .”

Stannis wanted to discard the idea that the Starks held some connection with Wolves and Magic but after witnessing Melisandre’s power he knew that he could not dismiss it entirely. 


	8. Wolf Girl Version 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa couldn't decide what to do for this so I wrote two slightly different versions and you can all choose which version you prefer should I ever write more for it.

Stannis heard shouts, louder than his men’s usual routine, and looked up from the map he studied. The shouting did not stop, but continued, getting louder and closer to his tent. After the death of his wife, Melisandre had warned him of a rebellion in the North before _she left_ and returned to the wall. Melisandre had not mentioned that it would be his own men, however.

He reached for his sword, but as his hand came into contact with the pommel a blur of brown and red fur shot through the front of his tent and hid itself beneath the bed at the back. 

Ah. Perhaps their shouts were not a rebellion after all, but a hunt. 

Stannis drew his sword, ready for an attack. But the attack never came. The shouting continued outside and he heard orders given to find the wolf - “Be wary! Check the Princess is safe!” 

At least his men had some sense to check his heir. He didn’t know whether to feel gratified that they thought he could look after himself or annoyed that they would not protect their King like they should. Their plan to guard his daughter was something in their favour however. Shireen was as likely to try and make friends with the wolf as it would be to eat her.

Three guards charged into his tent, swords in hand, “Your Grace!” They said, their eyes flickered down to his sword “Is it here?” 

Stannis nodded. “Spread out, we don’t want to let it escape.”

They approached in a half circle toward the bed at the back of the tent, ready for an attack. What they were not ready for, was for the wolf to _speak._

“Please,” it whimpered, “Please don’t hurt me—“

One of his men opened his mouth to reply, and Stannis was scowling at the back of the bed from where the voice had come from. They heard something shuffling against the canvas at the back of the tent and while they might have prepared to attack the wolf when it emerged they were surprised that instead of paws with claws or thick shaggy fur or even a snarling muzzle, the face of a woman appeared just above the wood, her blue eyes wide and terrified. 

“What sorcery is this?” Stannis growled, more like a wolf himself. “What manner of creature are you—“

The woman…creature spoke in a stuttering voice. She was dressed in furs, the head of one, a wolf of red and brown fur, sat atop her head like some strange hood. “I-I am no creature, please. My name is Sansa Stark—“

“Impossible.” one of his men muttered. “Sansa Stark is in King’s Landing—“

“I escaped the capital and arrived at Winterfell with Lord Baelish’s help!” Stannis had to admit Baelish was a slippery one, but why she would go to Winterfell when the Bolton’s had it he knew not. It couldn’t have been her own idea. “He thought to give me to Ramsay, Lord Bolton’s Bastard, to solidify their claim on the North but I wouldn’t do it and—” Her voice shook and angry tears gathered in her eyes as she stood a little straighter behind the bed, the wood now level with her collarbone. though from the way her height wavered at points Stannis knew she was crouching slightly. He didn’t know why until he saw a flash of bare shoulder and realised she was likely naked beneath what little fur she wore. A death sentence in this climate. 

Casting a look at his men from the corner of his eye he saw each man’s gaze was flickering from her face to the bare skin that seemed to shine in the tent. He knew that his army had seen no women except those that were wildlings, and this woman, likely almost bare and certainly a beauty, was very tempting.

“And the wolf?” he asked.

“I don’t know—I…” a terrible shiver shook her frame and she wrapped her arms around herself, pushing up her breasts so the line of her cleavage peeked over the headboard of the bed. Without thinking Stannis marched forward and pulled the largest fur from the top of his bed and handed it to her. “Take it,” he said, “You’ll die if that fur is all you’re wearing.” Now much closer Stannis could see it _was_ all she was wearing though he could see nothing below her ribs, the bed still blocking most of his view. He turned his head away as she moved her bare arms to grasp the fur, and instead settled for glaring at his men when she reached for it - they hastily looked away, all red cheeked and breathing a little harder than usual. 

“Go find Lady Stark some clothes.” Stannis ordered the men, “If anyone asks the wolf was chased away. Otherwise you will keep quiet about this, understood?”

His men bowed uttering the usual “Yes, Your Grace,” before leaving his tent.

Stannis turned back to the woman, who had stepped out from behind the headboard, the fur wrapped securely around herself until it pooled on the floor, her bare toes peeking out from beneath the edge. 

“Get in the bed.”

She froze, her blue eyes wide with panic. “What—“

Stannis looked at her, unimpressed. “You will be warmer there until my men find clothes for you. I will remain over here.” He was not accustomed to having to put young ladies at ease. Especially ones that were naked. She still seemed a little hesitant but when he made no move to get closer she wrapped herself in the remaining furs on his bed and sat, hopefully warmer now, in the middle of it. “In the meantime you will explain how you came to be here — the full story with all the details — and then you will tell me what you know of the Bolton’s numbers and tactics if anything has been spoken in front of you.”

Lady Sansa gave him one searching look, and then, hardening her gaze, began.


	9. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An 'end of the world' scenario

Sansa realised that she had been waiting around for nothing. Well she had been waiting around for the Right Guy, only now she would never get to actually meet, date nor have sex with that guy. It seemed to be some terrible joke that the world would end before she could discover what it would be like to actually ‘get some’. She was twenty-eight, still a virgin, and the world was about to end. Lovely.

“I can’t stand it any longer! Being cooped up in here is driving me insane!” Joffrey shouted, heading toward the doors. He had been the cause of most of the strife within their little safe zone and as much as Sansa hesitated in being mean or hurtful to anyone, this man sorely tested her patience. They’d been here a little over a month and there was really only one person who was actually sensible and calm about the whole dying-thing.

It didn’t seem to matter to Stannis Baratheon. He seemed unsurprised that the greed of governments would cause another war in the end though perhaps he thought it would have been a little closer to home. Everyone else was too busy crying or worrying to have an interesting conversation with her, and if it wasn’t for him Sansa would have surely been as hysterical as the rest of them.

“You’ll almost certainly die out there when they drop the bomb.” 

No one knew what sort of chemicals or strange effects the bomb would have, having come from an  _ alien _ spaceship after all. Why on earth the government thought that the aliens would want to be  _ friends _ was beyond her. They probably didn’t speak the same language - definitely not!

“Yeah, well at least it will be instant and not slowly starving or being poisoned to death like you will down here! So if I’m going to die, first I’m going to live a little!” The rest of the people in the common room, having been drawn out by the commotion, seemed to agree. “Anyone with me?”

Apparently most of the group were idiots and followed him. Unfortunately for them, if they changed their mind, the bunker could not be opened from the outside without removing ‘lockdown’. Sansa honestly didn’t want to die by alien bomb and so here she would stay. She didn’t know what kind of a ‘life’ they would have up there - all food and medicine had been moved to the bunkers so those inside could survive, the last the human race had if the bomb really did destroy everything.

“More rations for us, then.” 

Sansa looked over at Stannis as he stood up and began heading for his room. He had spent most of his time away from the group and hadn’t really seemed bothered about mingling with the rest of them. They had the bunker to themselves now and with so little company available to her, she really had no desire to spend the time alone.

“You don’t have to go you know.” Sansa called out just as his hand reached out to pull on the handle. “In fact I’d prefer it if you kept me company out here. It’s surprisingly eerie without their chatter going on.”

“You expect me to fill the silence then?”

“No, just sit with me in it.” Sansa replied. “Or we can talk if you like…”

He clearly thought her some half-wit but the look on her face - desperate, sad, lonely - must have convinced him to join her on the long sofa that took up most of the back wall. They’d known each other for a while before this whole mess had started. Helping to get her father’s business back up and running and out of the Lannister’s claws. They weren’t friends, but he was the closest thing to family she had when the siren went off and they’d hurried to the nearest bunker.

It was actually rather nice. The bunker had been made to accommodate many more people than had actually first taken refuge down there. It stretched on for miles, half was filled with tinned foods and packets while the other half had beds, non-food supplies and a couple of generators that provided them with heat and electricity. There was also a few pieces of exercise equipment to keep their muscles from atrophying while they were down there as well as board games and other things to keep them entertained.

The silence was strangely comfortable, considering the circumstances, and the fact that Stannis Baratheon was the most ill tempered person she had ever met. He had very little patience and certainly didn’t suffer fools. He was direct and unafraid of hard work.

A strange, far away rumble caused every thought she’d ever had to flash through her mind. She didn’t want to die with regrets. Not ones she could fix anyway.

Sansa turned to Stannis, two cushions away and caught him looking at her with a grave expression. He half expected her to whimper and seek comfort from him - which he looked about as comfortable doing as he would be sitting on a knife. 

Of course that is neither what Sansa did or said.

“Do you want to have sex?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> forgive the lack of smut. I'll come back to this one, like the rest of them, when I have inspiration. Anyone else is welcome to take the idea and run with it ;)


	10. Anyone But Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have a thing that was in my drafts :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made some progress on the next chapters of By My Hand and All Is Aglow (I looked an my last update was over a year ago!!) and was just looking through my drafts for something when i found this and thought you might like it even if it is a little short and I'd half-written the next chapter but...here we go!

“She’s too young!” Stannis hissed at his brother.

This conversation is not one Stannis thought he’d have to have so soon, or at all, with his older brother. 

Robert continues on as though it matters little that the girl is but nineteen and Robert nearly forty. “Men older than me have taken younger to wife before—“

It is true.

Walder Frey would be the example Stannis would have used if it wasn’t sure that he would be punished for it. Even the brother of the King is not immune to clips around the ear or a night in the dungeons.

“You’re older than her father whom you consider your kin! You should feel toward her how you would a daughter!” Stannis stiffens as soon as the words leave his lips and curses himself as Robert’s face turns thunderous. Perhaps he will spend a night in the dungeons after all.

“Oh well I would know all about having a daughter wouldn’t I—seeing as all my children were _BASTARDS_!” 

Stannis makes an effort not to grind his teeth at the volume. Any number of spies could be listening outside the door right then. He has to remind Robert of his duty.

“You still have children, Robert. The eldest of them Edric Storm, lives on Dragonstone. Myra Stone who lives in the Eyrie and Gendry Waters who is just down in—“

Robert stands, hefting his great bulk out of the chair he’d sat himself in and begins to pace about the room. “I cannot put a bastard on the throne, it would cause riots and uproar all over—I can’t think of a surer way to get my own blood killed!” He turns to Stannis, fury still burning in his eyes - they all have quite the temper.

Robert has lost weight in the lines of his face and the skin that sags around his gut and arms, there is quite a lot since he’d stopped drinking. Now he took more to the courtyards and practice dummies which Stannis had to admit, was not a bad thing. After having been confronted with the truth of Tommen, Myrcella and Joffrey’s true lineage Robert had gone off wine completely. It was like snuffing out a candle. He had even refused wine offered to him at the feast after they had spent two long years putting down the Lannister forces. After that, Robert had still refused to drink because apparently it impaired his judgement - who knew! 

“Sansa will be _Queen_ , it’s what she wanted!”

“Oh I doubt that she imagined _you_ when she pictured her wedding! Pick someone Robert, but not her—“

Robert’s eyes turned sharp. “Pick someone but not her? Why not her? Do you fancy her for yourself Stannis?”

“What? No! Of course not!” Stannis feels bile well up in his throat. “She is only nine years older than Shireen would have been.”

The mention of his daughter, lost to greyscale when she was just an infant, makes Robert still and grow uncomfortable. They have both lost children, though for very different reasons.

Like Robert, Stannis was a widower too, as Selyse had only managed a few years after Shireen's death before she succumbed in her sleep, depressed and drained from carrying and losing so many babes that for her, living on to became too much. Stannis barely saw Dragonstone since their deaths, remaining in Kings Landing when Ned Stark became Hand instead of returning home to sulk over being passed over yet again.

After a long and awkward pause where Robert stares anywhere but him, his brother eventually replies. 

“I’ll think about it.”

It’s all Stannis can ask for, and as he quits the room he hopes that Robert will choose more wisely this time - someone for his Queen and someone for Sansa Stark.


	11. At The Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another one from the rough drafts! Though this one is meant to be a one shot!

It was terrible, Sansa thought, that even some of the strongest men could be felled by a sly smile and a warm cunt. She had thought Stannis Baratheon beyond the concerns of other men though in truth perhaps it was just her own thoughts and wishes that he might look at _her_ with the same want as he looked at the Red Woman. There was something between them, heat, passion, a knowing look of a moment shared and Sansa envied her for it.

Stannis looked up from where he was sat at his desk writing letters. He would never be what most people called handsome. Ser Loras was handsome. His brother Renly was handsome. Even Robert had been handsome before food and drink and whores turned him fat and lazy. 

Stannis Baratheon was all hard lines and sharp angles, he scowled hard and worked harder and the only time he ever got close to a smile was a twitch in the corners of his lips - though sometimes even that seemed like a trick of the light.

After the queen had died suddenly after catching a chill, and the princess falling ill with a fever soon after, Stannis seemed as though he was ready to join them. He’d barely eaten, rarely slept, and on arriving and seeing it for herself Sansa had told him, almost shaking with anger, that she did not come all this way to watch him _give up_. She brought him meals and ate with him after that even if he complained of being watched like a child. She did not go so far as to sleep with him, though she would not have minded the extra heat, or his presence in her bed, she felt three was one too many.

They sat by fire in his rooms, both wrapped in furs and working on the single simple table it held, trying to finish the remaining letters to the Northern Houses and rally support.

“She doesn’t deserve you, you know.” The words were out before she could reconsider. She'd pictured this moment over and over in her head. What she would say. How he would react...

“Deserve me?” Stannis said, his usual frown fixed on his face and blue eyes hard as they stared at her from beneath heavy brows. “Who?”

Sansa dropped her quill and worried at a loose thread at the edge of her cloak, a habit picked up to stop her from biting her lips and fingers to bleeding.

“The Red—the Lady Milisandre. She takes you for granted.”

Stannis scoffed and looked down and Sansa felt her frustration with him build. 

Sansa stood and the chair scraped noisily against the cold floor. “Do you think me a liar, Your Grace?” 

The King only huffed and shook his head. “They fear the Lady Milisandre and this keeps the men to my side, their fear ensures their loyalty. Without her, half my army would have marched back south by now.”

Sansa frowned at him. How could he not see it?

“You don’t give them enough credit,” Sansa said, stepping forward until she was beside his chair, “Or yourself.”

Stannis scoffed again and this time she could hear the self deprecating edge to it.

She stood beside him looking down, and he up at her. It was a strange place to be, above the King, usually so much taller than her. “It is the truth! Your men don’t follow you because they fear her. They respect you…as I do.” 

Her voice was softer then and she knew her heart was painted across her face. “I make for Winterfell tomorrow with the princess. While I feel I have been rather bold with my opinions I think that some may have been missed in all the excitement.” Thoughts of death and destruction and cold, _cold_ hands reaching out. “I wish to make it clear that you hold my loyalty, my respect…and my heart.” 

Stannis looked at her bewildered and she couldn’t resist raising her hand to cup his cheek and smooth along the rough beard that lined his jaw. “I would have you know before I leave and before you engage the wights…" she took a deep breath. "Should any ill befall you, and I hope it is not so, but I need to make sure that I expressed myself fully and you…” the words caught in her throat, refusing to be spoken aloud. 

She would _not_ cry. 

But she couldn’t leave it like this — he needed to know the extent of her feelings, and, if he wanted...if he...slowly and gently, as though not to startle him, Sansa leant down and softly pressed her lips to his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone has the time I would REALLYREALLYREALLY appreciate it if you could answer a survey for my dissertation research -- https://www.surveymonkey.co.uk/r/GK7KV8Q the last two are optional if they don't apply to you! THANKS!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's answered so far, they've been really helpful! It means I can hopefully finish my essay a bit quicker and get back to writing!


	12. The Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stannis looked down at the book and then flipped it over, his brow crinkled at the front cover but opened up to scan the first page. Sansa fought hard not to laugh as his eyes widened and his cheeks turned pink with embarrassment “Sansa,” he said scandalised, “this is smut.”

Sansa fanned her flushed face using the book she had been reading. It was fairly thick, made up of several different stories, though each was thin enough to get through in an hour if you were a quick reader. 

It had been a tough week and she definitely needed some downtime. The book was one of a series and had come highly recommended from rave reviews on the internet. It also didn’t cost much and her curiosity had allowed the impulse buy. Sansa had to say, that despite the rather cliche cover, the writing was better than expected. Clearly not as brilliant as some fanfic she'd read but it was better than nothing really and there was something about the guy, tall, dark haired, repressed until he finally let loose...which was why she was in her bedroom at three o’clock, curtains drawn and dressed for bed.

_…He seemed to fill every sense until she was surrounded by him — until his lips were all she could taste, their sex all she could smell, all she could see was his face twisted as he let out grunts and gasps that rumbled through his chest as his hips thrust and cock filled her till she could scarcely think—_

The front door slammed shut and Sansa almost threw the book away from her in surprise, the pages crinkling even more as her other hand stilling under the covers, breath stopped and listening for…

“Sansa, are you home?” Sansa could hear him moving about in the apartment, the jingle of keys as they were put on their hook and the rustle of papers as he shuffled things about in his office.

Sansa looked at the book (she was just getting to the good bit too) when she had a brilliant idea.

Closing the book shut with a snap, Sansa couldn’t quite keep the smile off her face as she hopped out of bed, slipped into a silk nightie and book in hand, padded softly through the apartment to find her lover.

He was in his study behind his desk, papers all around him. Sansa wasn’t the only one who’d had a rather busy week.

Sansa leant against the doorframe and waited for him to notice

“There you—“

Stannis’ eyes were wide as he realised she wore nothing but the silk nightie, starting at her bare feet and trailing up her body. His gaze was like a physical caress that lingered over the hem of her nightdress, the stiff peaks of her nipples and the sultry smile playing about her lips.

“You’re home early,” Sansa purred, watching with satisfaction as Stannis’ slack jaw snapped shut with a click.

“Yes, I thought I’d get some work done here and—“

“How about you take a break.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“This.” Sansa pulled back. “I want you to read the first section.”

“What…” Stannis looked down at the book and then flipped it over, his brow crinkled at the front cover but opened up to scan the first page. Sansa fought hard not to laugh as his eyes widened and his cheeks turned pink with embarrassment “Sansa,” he said scandalised, “this is smut.”

“Oh I know, and I want you to read it. Don’t worry it won’t take you more than an hour or two.”

“But—“

“And I’ll know if you haven’t because I’ll be testing you later…come and find me when you’re done.” She pauses in the doorway, looking over her shoulder with a smile that promises trouble and says, “Oh, Stannis?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t touch yourself either.” She winks, her eyes are heated and it takes everything he has to remain seated and not chase after the vixen who saunters out of sight.

*****

Stannis is reluctant at first, wondering what Sansa wishes to achieve by having him read such a thing. He is, of course, sceptical at first, trying to skim through the pages and skip to whatever ideas Sansa has planned for him, but he reads a sentence or two - properly - and then he finds himself sucked into it. Surely if she wishes him to become aroused she could have handed him an adult film, the latter probably would have been more effective. Though now he thinks about it…this is different. 

There’s a lot of feeling in it, and far more foreplay than would ever be in any of the films he has seen - not that he watches them now, very rarely are they tasteful…but this. There’s quite a bit of build up, some backstory and by the end, Stannis is all but oblivious to the rest of the world. He could have been reading it at the office in a meeting and probably not be aware of the other people in the room.  Robert could have stormed into his study and declared he was to retire from Baratheon Inc, give all his money to charity, become a Septon and all Stannis would have been able to achieve would be a ‘huh’ wave his hand and tell Robert to leave before he became engrossed once more in his book.

His book? 

Stannis reads the rest giving up all pretence of having no interest and he finds it is quite impossible to remain aloof when reading such detailed descriptions. 

By the time he’s finished the story and realises there’s more he’s torn between reading the next, going back to his favourite bits and taking himself in hand or chasing after Sansa to demand what she means by telling him to read it. 

Stannis settles for closing the book with a snap and rising quickly from his chair to seek out his lover.

*****

Much later, when they collapse back onto the bed, out of breath and tingling from the aftermath of what had been very satisfying role play, Stannis turns to her and says, “So…do you have any more books like that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Tommy to get things done and posted on here!  
> The next chapter of In Need is coming soon as well as By My Hand after that!

**Author's Note:**

> The 'Oh Magic Mine' fic update was posted too soon so apologies if you got a notification and there was nothing to read *hides*


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